


all that i hoped would change within me stayed

by pickled_plum



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M, Humor, Katara really knows what she wants, Mild Swearing, Sort of Canon Compliant?, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, Zutara Week 2020, lots of food talk, quality time at Ember Island
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:53:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25528495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pickled_plum/pseuds/pickled_plum
Summary: Reflecting, they've always been so intertwined--at the air temple, after his final Agni Kai. The summer Zuko turns twenty, Katara re-enters his life with the whirl of silk robes and the scent of sea-salt and ginger blossoms, and new intentions for their own relationship.She smiles ruefully, “You know, we’re taking a break. I think we both need it; we’re apart so often, you know? He’s flying here from the Western Air Temple and will meet us at the summer house. It’ll be good to see him again. It’s good to see all of you again, really. Ambassadorial life is pretty lonely.”(Zutara Week 2020 was calling my name.)
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 122





	1. reunion, or also, close your eyes and i'll close mine

**Author's Note:**

> Hooooo boy, it's been over ten years since I've written for this fandom, and here we go! This entry contains some actions of drinking and smoking, so beware if that upsets you. 
> 
> These are intended to be interlaced tales, except for one entry for this week (we'll get to it).

“Get off my shit, rabbit-squirrel-brains!” Toph hollers, and Katara whips around, away from the rapidly approaching horizon, away from the lure of the sea. She watches, non-plussed, as Toph dive-bombs a young soldier, who has tried to move some luggage to a more convenient spot on the boat. Ember Island, well, it doesn’t _loom_ , but it approaches like a nervous servant. Katara will never get used to the servants that seem to appear like mist or ghosts, at the Earth Kingdom Palace, at General Iroh’s apartments in Ba Sing Se, at Toph’s parents’ house when she visited last year with her--“for moral support and elbow-holding.”

“I’m sorry, miss! I just have to move things!” Katara bites at her lips, trying desperately to hide a snicker. Toph is wrestling him to the deck, clearly attempting to keep him away from her bag.

“I see you, mocking that poor boy,” jibes a soft, smoky voice to her side. She looks up--it’s Zuko.

“Not going to play referee?” asks Sokka, following up behind him.

“Mmm, not today,” Katara muses, tossing her hair into the breeze. It is _nice_ to be back on the ocean. She’s spent the last six months in a border town of the Si Wong Desert, negotiating with the sand-benders. Before that, she was in Ba Sing Se on official ambassadorial duties for the Southern Water Tribe for about a year, and then before _that_ , she’d been providing aid for some of the rural interior Earth Kingdom towns for something like eighteen months. Most eighteen-year-olds she knows are either in school, or married with a kid on the way, but she’s single and doing the heavy diplomatic and charitable work of a woman twice her age.

“Oh, look, she’s going easy on him,” Zuko notes drily, as Toph shoves the poor kid into a door. “He’ll get off with just a concussion, instead of a broken arm like the last guy.”

The past few years have been good to Zuko--it’s been almost three years since she’s had a chance to visit. He’ll be twenty tomorrow, and he’s grown. _Really grown_. He’s easily over six feet tall, and his hair is so long now that what isn’t caught up in his topknot rolls over his shoulder. He has one of those formal shoulder pieces on that Katara desperately hopes will go out of style soon, but it doesn’t do much to the chest that has already grown broader and more muscular. _And he was no lanky twig like Sokka during the war, either,_ she muses. 

“Well, someone’s gotta get those boys in shape--she’s taken to teaching a little _too_ well, in her old age,” Katara snarks back, smiling. Zuko smiles back, golden eyes softening. His face has thinned out too, cheekbones standing out elegantly, even under the scar. _He looks_ real _good_. 

“Well, at least you got out of being such a turbulent sixteen-year-old; can’t say I wasn’t beating people up at her age. So, uh, how are you and Aang, ah, doing these days?” _There’s the awkward turtle-duck, out and about for a toddle around the pond._

Sokka barks a laugh, walks away, throws an arm around Toph.

She smiles ruefully, “You know, we’re taking a break. I think we both need it; we’re apart so often, you know? He’s flying here from the Western Air Temple and will meet us at the summer house. It’ll be good to see him again. It’s good to see all of you again, really. Ambassadorial life is pretty lonely.”

“Meanwhile, I feel like I can never get a moment alone these days. Always papers to sign, emissaries to greet, Fire Sages up my ass about everything. I’m glad you all could come to celebrate. I thought a little reunion would be nice. I’m just missing Uncle,” he says with a sigh. They turn, and lean against the railing.

“He misses you too--I stayed at his apartments in Ba Sing Se over the New Year. It was good to see a familiar face,” she says. The breeze whips around them, and Katara’s nose is overwhelmed with the smell of amber musk, something roast-y, and rich sandalwood. “Are...are you wearing cologne?!”

Zuko pinks.

“The Earth Kingdom ambassador got it for me for a birthday gift! She said it was indispensable for any young nobleman! Is it too much?” She softens. It is good to be back with friends--with him.

“No, no,” she says, and sticks her nose onto his sleeve, “I like it. It smells nice on you.” Underneath the cologne, she gets that warm man-smell. She misses that smell, from time to time, if she’s being honest with herself.

“Oh good. She said to go easy on it. Um, Katara?”

“Oh, sorry!” She’s lingered too long. But looking up into his eyes, they are still molten and soft. It’s her turn to pink, and she looks back to the sea. They are close to the docks. “I guess I’m just a little tired. I am so ready for this mini-vacation.”

“You deserve it. Uncle says you do the work of a woman twice your age.”

* * *

The beach house is just as she remembers it, but somehow, fuller, livelier. Zuko’s stocked it with paintings of the whole team, plants with bright summer blooms heavy with scent, curios from his travels. There’s only two servants, blessedly, a cook and a maid who greet them at the door.

“It looks nice in here! So bright and happy!” cheers Suki. “It was kinda sad when we stayed here last time.”

“Thanks. Uncle’s sent me enough tea and teapots to fill a whole bookshelf,” Zuko shrugs, “but I wanted it to be fun again, so Kiyi and Mom can come and enjoy themselves, you know? Get rid of the sad nostalgia, make room for new memories. Maybe we could have regular reunions here.”

“Heck yeah!” chimes Toph, hefting her bag. “I am so ready for some vacation time!” Things are dropped in rooms, and Katara is convinced to join the group at the beach, even though the things that sound the _best_ right now are to sink into the fluffy white covers of the bed she’s been given and have a deep, sun-soaked nap, dreaming away the afternoon for the first time in years.

She pads out, yawning, in her swimsuit, and looks around, trying to remember where the towels were stored last time. She turns too quickly, and runs into something soft, clean, cottony-- a stack of towels?

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, Rina...” Katara stammers, but it’s not the maid. It’s Zuko, who is shirtless and ready for the beach. Her heart thumps a few times and her blood seems to rush a little faster in her veins, because his trunks sling low on his sharp hipbones, and thank Tui and La that she managed to that chest scar to fade to something more dashing. A trail of hair follows his bellybutton down into those trunks... _and she’s just gonna stop that thought-canoe and paddle it right back upriver_.

“Oh, Rina’s packing us some rice balls for snacks, do you have any requests? I know you like pickled ocean kumquats...” He trails off too, sticking a hand behind his head sheepishly. His mane of hair is knotted messily on the back of his head.

“Any flavor is fine!” she squeaks. “Let’s go! I can’t wait for dip! It’s so lovely out today!”

“It is,” he agrees, and scoops up the towels, flinging them over his shoulder. His hand brushes hers lightly as they take the path down to the black sand beach.

* * *

Aang arrives just in time for dinner. Rina brings out a sumptuous feast of all their favorites: hippo-cow braised in soy sauce and ginger, rooster-pig spare ribs deep fried and dusted with lime zest and chilis ground to a fine powder, crispy garlic arctic whale-shrimp, a sweet and sour sprouted bean curd, and a miraculous leg of caribou that is roasted and covered in a pearly sauce that is delicately scented and made Sokka cry when it was set down in front of him.

“I tried to make sure we all got something we liked,” Zuko admits, seated comfortably at the head of the table. He’s placed Katara on his right, Toph on his left, and Katara doesn’t mind this. The maid has served what seems like a hundred side dishes, which keeps her plenty occupied, instead of having to make awkward eye contact with Aang. Katara picks up spicy fermented cucumber-melon, braised potatoes and peppers, sautéed pea shoots, and takes a little bit of all the main dishes. “And, my father left one gift: that quite amazing selection of wines and spirits.”

Katara and Suki have been enjoying the plum wine, and Sokka and Toph have turned drinking shots of soju into some kind of game, and are easily drinking Aang under the table already. She hasn’t enjoyed herself, been so relaxed and at ease, in a long time.

“Here, Katara, have you ever had these? They’re a specialty of Ember Island,” Zuko says softly. She turns to him, his chopsticks clutching some noodles like glass threads, mixed with tomato-carrots and green onions. She shakes her head no, and he offers her a bite, guiding the chopsticks to her mouth. They slip in, yummy, and she slurps the last few over her lips.

“Sorry, country manners,” she says, covering her face and blushing.

“No, no, it’s...it’s cute,” he says. “I don’t mind!” _He thinks that’s cute?_ She decides to take it, and tries to shift the subject, to side-step Zuko turning into the awkward turtle-duck.

“What’s your favorite side dish? We’ve never gotten to eat such a nice meal together so close to each other!” In fact, the last time Katara was at a dinner with Zuko, it was a very formal affair, she was seated halfway down the table from him, between two lords and across from Aang, and it was a plated meal, with a different servant bringing her soup, her salad, her braised pork that was truthfully far too spicy, and she nearly cried when yet another servant brought her some pineapple-lime shaved ice to finish with.

“Hmm,” he murmurs, and his mouth bunches and pouts to one side, “This one.” He proffers long ribbons of carrot in sticky red sauce, sprinkled with sesame seeds. She slurps those off his chopsticks too.

“Ahh! So spicy! But good, really good!” She gulps some more plum wine, feeling warm all over. “Pick another you like.” She wants to know all his favorites tonight. Before dinner, he’d ditched his formal clothes, and has relaxed in a red silk shirt that leaves much of his chest open for her eyes to roam. _Nice abs_ , she notes, _for someone who claims to do paperwork all day long_.

The wine is getting to her.

* * *

“Rina, don’t worry about us, please, head to bed. We’ll probably drink some more, talk, and _definitely_ sleep in in the morning. Plenty of time for you and Lien to do dishes in the morning,” Zuko says to the maid, who is clearly yawning. She bows, murmurs a thank you, and heads off up the stairs. Katara loves how nice Zuko and Iroh are to their employees; the Earth King has several ministers who treat the servants like dirt. She’s brought it up to Kuei, but he only frowns and polishes his glasses.

“Alright! Now we can break out the good stuff!” Toph shouts, and punches the air. She is gone and back again in a flash.

“Good stuff? There’s so much good stuff here already!” Aang’s words come out a little soupy--he’s lost the soju drinking game. He takes a hearty spoonful of fruit tart. “This is so good, Zuko. I _love_ fruit tarts!"

“I didn’t want to sailors to get ahold of this stuff; I confiscated it from one of my students. Ha!” Toph says, dropping back down on her cushion. She holds a long pipe in hand and pouch.

“So that’s why you were beating that poor guy up on the boat?” asks Sokka. Suki has migrated to mostly-in-Sokka’s-lap, but who is Katara to judge, because she is leaning full-body on Zuko-- _it’s _certainly_ not the wine_, she thinks, _it’s the biceps for sure_.

“Well, hell yeah, this stuff is _wild_!” crows Toph, dumping some clumps of dried green leaves on the table. She crumbles and stuffs, crumbles and stuff, and passes the pipe to Zuko. “Gimme a light, Master Sparky-pants? First puff is yours, host with the most!”

“What is it?” he asks, flicking two fingers and summoning a small flame. He lights the little leaves in the pipe bowl.

“Green dragon-weed!” Toph crows. “It’ll blow your mind!” Zuko tentatively puffs, coughs, and passes the pipe.

“That’s foul, Toph. Why?” Katara also passes, but Aang tries and Sokka tries, and Toph is clearly an expert, because she blows out perfect smoke rings.

Soon, they are a group of giggling kids again, lying on the floor, cackling at Sokka’s bad jokes as Suki regales stories of their stories, as she and Sokka work as prisoner escorts mostly these days. Aang and Toph keep passing that pipe back and forth, but Katara’s cup of plum wine never seems to empty, mostly because Zuko keeps giving her sips out of his--first a fiery ginger whiskey, next a herby, clear soju with lots of something citrusy squeezed in it, then a sweet melon liquor. He will nudge to offer, and every time, they make electric eye contact, and all the blood in her vein rushes down to the center of her hips.

“These are all really good,” she mumbles, feeling so relaxed and happy, warm against Zuko’s arm, full of food and drink, surrounded by friends.

“Good, I’m glad you’re having a good time,” he says lightly, nuzzling his nose to her ear. _More of that, please_ , she thinks, his breath hot on her cheek, and she steals a look at the others. Sokka and Suki are halfway out the door to their room, Toph is half-asleep, and Aang lays on the floor, blowing smoke into creatures for Momo to chase after, mostly out of sight.

She turns, and steels herself. “Can I...?”

His eyebrow knits. “Whatever you like?” _What a good host._

She cranes her neck a little, and sneaks a peck on his lips, firm and spicy. There’s a little jolt, like electricity, and he presses back, firm, maybe even a little desperate. He shifts angles, captures her more surely. She melts a little, but pulls back. Toph and Aang are still sprawled on the floor, blissfully unaware.

“Aang, I am just beat, aren’t you? Toph? I think we should all drink a glass of water and go to bed,” she says gently.

“Huh? Mmm, yeah, I am pooped!” Aang slurs, and tries to get up, loses his balance, slips. “Monkeyfeathers!”

Toph snores on. Zuko, who still has his bearings, swiftly helps Aang to his feet, and scoops Toph up in a cradle hold. Katara settles the completely toasted Avatar into bed, takes off his shoes and shirt, and forces a glass of water in him. She leaves another on the table, but he’s asleep before she slides the door shut.

“She is out cold!” Zuko says, sliding the door shut. The house is quiet, so quiet that Katara can hear her heart racing. He pads back over. The tie of his shirt has come undone over the course of the evening, and she decides to take yet another chance. She closes the gap between them in the hall, pressing her hand to his chest and reaching up for another kiss.

It’s almost like he _knows_ , and his hands tangle in her hair before their lips meet again. She clutches at the sides of his shirt, thrilled to touch and feel and smell him. One of his hands drops from her hair, and his thumb traces deliciously down her neck, to cup her waist and pull her closer. She sighs as she relaxes into the touch of his lips, the tip of his tongue pushing experimentally. He breaks for a moment.

“C’mon, let’s...get more comfortable,” he rasps, and pulls her down the hall, sliding open the red paper door at the end of the hall. He flicks his hand, lighting many lamps softly, and the room glows a rich red. He pulls her to the bed, and she flops down. The bed cradles her, and she suddenly loses all desire to move.

“I want you to know that I _want_ this, but I’m so tired, Zuko. Rain check?” she murmurs.

“I understand. Can I...can I help you get ready for bed?” he asks, almost shy. Her heart skips. She cranes her neck up, and presses her lips to his heatedly.

“Sure.”

He slips off the bed and shucks his silk shirt to a stool. Next, the gold sash and black trousers. She chuckles lightly, because the style of underwear Fire Nation men wear is _so weird-looking_ , so tight-fitting and trim, but his is black and she’s not surprised by that.

He kneels, and pushes up the skirts of her summer dress. It’s light blue silk with a white surcoat so gossamer it might be made of cobwebs, a gift from the Earth King for her last birthday, and in this heat, she’s glad it’s sleeveless. His hot hands press into her thighs, and he leans in, takes a breath, trails kisses down her inner thighs, over her knees.

He tenderly unwraps the ties from her slippers--they lace up her legs with ribbons--and presses a kiss on her calf. Fingers trail down the back of her calves, over her heels as he tugs the slippers off, stashing them on the floor.

Shoes off, he unties the waistband of the surcoat, lays it on the stool. He takes issue with the buttons on the side of the dress, but gets them undone, and he tugs it over her head until it floats back to join the surcoat. He flips her over, gripping her hips, and pulls the tie of the petticoat, tugs that down too. Hot kisses feather up her spine, and she can’t help but let a noise that is half moan, half sigh.

“Feels so good, Zuko, but I am so ready for some sleep,” she drawls, eyes drooping.

Gently, he presses a heated kiss to her neck, and _wow, Katara didn’t know she could sparkle internally_. His hands trail to her waist and back up.

“Can I offer you a place to rest here?” he asks, a joke in his voice.

“Seems like just the right place to be,” she yawns. He pulls back the sheets, cool and crisp, and she settles in. He snuggles close to her, and she drifts off, hoping that every reunion can be like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's always been my own personal head-canon that Zuko loves spicy food (I've had the Fire Nation cuisine here take some strong inspiration from Thai cuisine and _banchan_ ) and Katara can't really handle it at all. Plus, Toph would be a total stoner if given the opportunity, and you all know it. 
> 
> Please leave a review, I'm curious to see how my writing has aged (because holy crap, I have).


	2. counterpart, or, on the morning that you came, would you wait for me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the one that's a loner, y'all; a little sequel to my "cocktail" entry from 2009 (in my works, but you don't need to read it to fully get it). 
> 
> Warning: mentions sex and nudity, but nothing graphic.

Zuko wakes up, bleary-eyed, and hard as a rock. Fortunately, his cock is nestled into the cleft of a _really_ nice butt, and he’s not mad about it. In fact, he’s so glad, before he even rubs the sleep from his eyes, he reaches down to give this master-class in ass a light caress and a squeeze, and sighs into the head of sea-salt and ginger blossom-scented hair in front of him.

_Katara. The woman sitting at his bar last night, drinking cactus juices._ Yep, definitely not mad about that. He rubs at his eyes, and leans down. She stirs, lifting her head around. 

“Morning,” she croaks. 

“Morning, sweetness,” he whispers. 

Her phone on the other nightstand buzzes. She reaches one slim brown arm out to look at it. She groans, and puts the phone screen down on the mattress with a thump. 

“Not who you wanted to hear from?” he asks. She rolls over and he honestly feels assaulted by those liquid azure eyes. 

“Nope. A student’s parent. On a Sunday fucking morning,” she says, rolling her eyes. 

“Poor thing. What can I do to make it better?” he asks, smiling, pulling her into his chest. She snuggles in and sighs. 

“Well, let’s take care of this woody and then you can feed me like any gentleman would. I will recover from parents invading my weekend at some point today,” she murmurs, but she rolls against the very same hard woody, the sensation hot and heavenly. 

One luxurious morning session later, this practical stranger is coyly seated on a stool at his bar again, but this time, it’s daylight, in his apartment, her ass is nearly bare in the lacy excuse she calls her “clubbing panties,” and the sun dapples across her lovely brown skin. Her mass of hair is tied in a messy knot on top of her head, and she’s borrowed a black t-shirt from his drawer. She surveys him over her crossed hands, and suddenly, he feels like he’s a little lost. 

“Coffee? Tea? Juice?” he asks, feeling sheepish. Last night, she was was surely hotter than hell, but in the sunshine, she’s so beautiful that his mouth feels full of feathers.

“Mmm, coffee. Got any hair of the dog?”

He smiles. “Who do you take me for? A Prohibitionist?” 

“More like an exhibitionist.” She smirks. Her eyes and hand flick to his sweatpants, making their slow introduction to the floor. He gives a gormless grin back, hauls them back up, and makes a point of tightening and tying a tight knot. 

“Mmm, anyways, Irish cream, Kahlua, both in that coffee?” He spoons grounds into his old percolator, a remnant of his time living with his uncle as a kid, his favorite times of finally finding stability and love. 

“Irish cream, please and thank you. But you know, I’ll take you up a spot of juice. ” He pours orange juice into a tiny Russian tea glass, another curio from Uncle Iroh, and starts cracking eggs. 

“So, a student’s parent? What do you teach?” he asks once coffee is poured and the eggs are setting up in their pan. The toaster pings, and he pushes her some slices on a plate, nudging the butter dish over the bar to her. 

“I’m a fifth-grade teacher,” she says, and the thought comes out like a mourning dove. “It’s hard, but I love it.” 

“Fifth grade’s not an easy time. I don’t envy you, doing it again and again each year. You’re some kind of super-hero, frankly.” He swiftly dumps eggs on her plate, slides a dish of orange slices between them to share, a bowl filled with tiny sunrises. 

“Hmmm, thanks. It’s definitely not easy being the first Native woman most of these kids have ever seen. But, Zuko-the-bartender, answer this: if you were a super-hero, what would your powers be?” She sips her spiked coffee, looks at him over the rim. 

“Good question...” he muses, and destroys several bites of over-medium eggs smashed on toast to give himself time to think. “I want control over an element. Maybe fire.” 

“Interesting. Showy, dangerous, lively.” 

“But it needs precision! And finesse. I’ve got a fine hand. I could be trusted with that power.” 

“Ohhh, you’ve got a _fine_ hand, I know that,” she snarks, delicately pulling an orange slice from its peel. 

“Well, well, Miss Fifth Grade Teacher, what would be your super-power?” he teases. It’s his turn to observe her over the coffee cup rim, and he sneaks a glance at the cleavage poking out of the v-necked t-shirt. 

“Elements, too, I think. Water and ice, you know? The boys in my class say it’s called ‘cryokinesis.’ I was shocked when a few of them chose to use a word with so many syllables.” She quirks a smile, those arresting eyes crinkling. 

They keep eating, and the silence is companionable; Zuko’s had quite a few one-night stands, but none that he’s so comfortable with so quickly. 

“Where do you think we go when we die?” she asks as they are slinking into the bathroom together. 

“Big questions for a Sunday morning, Katara,” he remarks, but reflects on the question as he turns on the shower. “I think I’ve got a new toothbrush in the drawer that you can use.” He rattles around in a drawer, finds a new toothbrush in its package, throws in on the counter. 

“Bless you. I think I’m a reincarnated seal, to answer my own question,” she says, wiggling out of those non-existent panties and his black t-shirt. “When I die, I think I’ll become one with the waves. Or perhaps the guardian spirit of the moon.”

“I think...in a past life...I was a prince. Maybe of a volcanic island. I have dreams about tropical, volcanic islands a lot,” he says in a part-whisper, part assertion. But at the same time, it’s kind of a relief, a salve, to admit this. 

“Where’s your family from?” she asks pointedly, as he shampoos her hair-- _so much glorious hair_ \--under the pounding waves of the shower. The suds slide down her smooth back and he allows himself to trail his fingers down her shoulder to her waist. 

“Mmm, Mom was--is--Thai, Dad’s like...Japanese-German-Dutch-Singaporean mix? I’m kinda a multi-cultural mutt,” he says, letting her scrub his back. She presses kisses that are half-nip, half-ghosts down the back of his neck. 

“Is, or was?” 

“It’s complicated.”

“I’ll let that sleeping dragon lie, then,” she asserts. “But prince of tropical volcanic island? Romantic, Zuko-the-bartender.”

“You said _you_ were a seal before you were you!” 

“Ya, a regular seal in the regular ocean. Probably in Alaska.” He rolls his eyes, but still smiles. 

Later when she’s pulled her clothes from the dryer and somehow made that notch-necked bohemian-print dress look ready for church, she makes herself a contact in his phone, kisses his cheek, promises that she’ll drop by The Panda Lily sometime this week--he can make her an old-fashioned. He says they need to go to a nice cocktail bar for that, but it’s not long after her Uber picks her up that he thumbs a message to her. 

_Did we go to school together? Meet somewhere before last night?_

_Maybe in another life_ is her reply.


	3. fuse, or, this must be danger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really love writing these two when they argue.

First, it was the smashed cooking pot (but Toph was able to repair it). 

Then it was the ripped shirt (and she ended up teaching him to do it himself).

After that, it was bringing more mouths to feed without anymore supplies (but he did bring Dad, so she didn’t stay mad too long). 

But _this_. This is the last straw. _This_ is the veritable straw breaking the sky-bison’s back. 

Katara _knows_ that it is cold and uncomfortable in the South Pole-- _it’s not for everybody_. But she also thinks that the heat and humidity in the Fire Nation is also _not for everybody_ and she is one of those people. 

At first, it was kind of novel--the spring spent in the Earth Kingdom was nice, refreshing, wearing just her leggings and tunic out and about was lovely--and then they got to the Fire Nation just at the beginning of summer. What a thing, walking around in a cropped top and sandals! _Amazing!_ Then the humidity set in, and her hair exploded and she was starting to be driven mad until they settle into the Western Air Temple, where the heat lessens _only slightly_.

But not now, because it is a damp and sticky night, and she has awoken, panting and sweat-soaked and _too hot_ , because Zuko has rolled over. Rolled right on over, practically on top of her, getting _real close and snuggly_ under the covers with her. 

_I should never have unbuttoned my roll_...but she can’t sleep without covers and it made sense to unbutton it and be able to stick her legs out to have at least some relief. Sokka insists on being the barrier between her and Aang _even though Aang isn’t the barrier between him and Suki_ , she gripes. 

Zuko had gone to sleep in one of the many dormitory rooms in the temple earlier that night, as they all had until the heat got to them. It was much more comfortable to sleep out on the pavilion with the mist from the fountain cooling them off. Apparently, the heat had even gotten to him at some point in the night. She can tell that he’s dragged a sleeping mat with him and flopped into the space between her and Toph, and has now gotten his arms wrapped all around her, and his nose is getting _real familiar_ with her right ear. She knows it’s him, and not Aang, by the weight of the arms and the smell like a campfire wafting around her. Aang always smells like Appa, like grass and meadows and freshwater streams. 

And apparently, according to her damp and sticky underwear, she is not real opposed to this arrangement. There is the whisper of lips on the soft spot where her head connects to her neck, though, and that sets her off. 

“Ugh! Get off!” she mostly whispers, thrashing out of his arms and crooking her fingers to whip a stream of water to her. She feels soaked through and wrung out, and is desperately thirsty. 

“Ow! What on--oh, shit--I’m so sorry!” he croaks, sitting up. Katara and her underwear both notice that he is shirtless, and his hair is tousled _very_ nicely. But that’s not the point, she reminds herself. 

“What were you thinking?!” she whispers, pushing away, slurping water down her throat, and letting the rest drop on her face and arms. She scrambles up, glad that she’s left her tunic on, and pulls up her sleeping roll with her, creeping out of the circle by the fountain. She’ll find a room that faces the breeze and have some _fucking_ privacy.  
“That it was really hot in my room, and I should get some relief by sleeping by the fountain?!” he whispers, following her off the pavilion and down the dark hall. “It’s dark, I just picked a spot with enough room for me!”

Once out of earshot, she rages. “I have about _had_ it with you and your behavior! Smashing my pots, ripping clothes, rushing headlong into a prison with _my brother_ in tow! How dare you invade my space like that?!” 

“My behavior?! _My_ behavior?! You’re the one who’s constantly yelling at me, and the _one_ pot was an accident, and might I remind you that _Sokka_ was the one who had the idea to run off to the Boiling Rock!” he snaps back. She screws up her eyes in determination to both have this fight and also not stare at his chest. “My fuse is about to run out with _you_ , Miss High-and-Mighty-Bossypants!”   
“I am _not_ that _bossy_!” she sputters back, dropping the sleeping roll on the floor. 

“Yeah, always telling everyone off for the most minor of infractions! More like Admiral Manners!” His pale face has gone blotchy with losing his temper, and he advances close. She can practically see the steam rising from his skin. 

“What?! That’s almost funny how dumb an insult _that_ is! Good lord, you are not only a pervert, but stupid too!” She crosses her arms, sneers, and makes to turn away. 

“Pervert!? Where are you getting that from?” 

“You were getting _real_ close with me--who knows what gross fantasies you were dreaming up in that thick noggin of yours!” 

“I was _asleep_! I didn’t do it on purpose, Katara!” he defends, and Katara almost, just almost feels bad when his voice cracks and squeaks. 

“Yeah, yeah, sure!” She turns away, as he keeps coming closer. 

“I am _sorry_ , Katara. I didn’t do that on purpose! I am sorry for making you uncomfortable, I am sorry for attacking you and tracking you for three months, and especially sorry for tying you to a tree! Can’t you see that I am trying to not just say, but to _do_ better?” His voice keeps cracking, and her resolve softens slightly. 

“I am trying, too. But I’m still not ready for...for much of anything from you,” she says. Saying makes her feel like she’s digging her heels in, though she doesn’t quite believe it anymore. But she’s entitled to take her time to forgive him, forgive his country, forgive the world. Her forgiveness, she knows these days, is a freshly-lit fuse to the fireworks that will make her feel at peace, but that it is a slow burn. The world is too much for those fireworks quite yet.

In the dim light, she sees the knot of his throat bob, he’s so close now. This is a frustrating moment to be in--she can’t deny that it was more the heat than the touch that bothered her. Katara knows that she has so many feelings built up inside of her that she’s iced over, packed away, left for later when she has the time and means to go through them, but she allows herself to feel a reaction for what he says next; it is the kind thing to do. 

“Katara, I am sorry. But, also, I want you to know...ugh, this is so hard to say out loud...I want you to know that I think...,” he pauses, swallows, looks away, looks back. “I think you’re really beautiful!” 

Katara can only bite her lip, though a sigh escapes her nose. She wriggles--her underwear is still traitorously damp, and her temper is too spent to not smile a little at this compliment. 

“Thank you,” is all she can whisper out. Her feet feel like glass all of the sudden, but she takes two steps toward him anyways. She presses a hand to his scar again, feeling unafraid of him once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: the state of Nebraska changed its motto to "it's not for everyone" last year. _NEBRASKA: IT'S NOT FOR EVERYONE!_
> 
> Leave reviews, for I feel so rusty at writing these days!


	4. celestial, or, the ocean and the moon and the sun

Zuko always feels like his blood is humming around Katara since his twentieth birthday. He’s always loved his moments close to her--he’s never felt _that_ guilty for the night he woke up tangled around her in the Western Air Temple during the war, for example, and he treasures that night when she let him undress her, let him get close to her and hold her, smell the sea salt and ginger blossom scent of her, relaxed and unwound in front of him. If there is anything he loves about her, it’s her vulnerability. 

It has been two months since his birthday, and it’s now the pinnacle of summer--the hot, sleepy, pale-pink set of days before autumn finally crashes into his crescent of islands. There’s a delegation from the Southern Water Tribe visiting to celebrate six years of Zuko on the throne and the summer equinox, when the Southern Water Tribe celebrates the end of the midnight sun. Katara is with them for this trip, bringing the cloud of sea salt and ginger blossom scent to thrown him completely out of balance. She and Aang, she writes in a letter two weeks before the visit, are still on a break. It’s been a whole six months, by this point.

He’s been in touch with Aang, sure, since then. They spend a lot of time collaborating with the Earth King’s ambassador, the Lady Seolha, these days on easing the tensions in the former colonies--it’s hard and frustrating work. Even during this break in the work, though, he’s not mad that Aang has gone off with a gift from him to Kuei. This “break” that Aang and Katara are on has made tensions run high between his friends. 

When the delegation comes off the docks, he shakes Chief Hakoda’s hand, hugs Sokka and claps him on the back, embraces Suki and exchanges kisses on the cheek, but then he gets to Katara, and barely suppresses a gulp. He feels the need to be tender, but somehow practically pulls her off her feet; the embrace feels _significant_. Heat pools between his legs, but he still blushes a little, and he suddenly feels guilty for how glad he is that Aang is a continent away. 

He clears his throat, “I’ve arranged for a grand dinner tonight, and Katara has said you’ve brought entertainment to share with us. Please, feel free to have Minister Peng consult on this; he’ll provide you with everything you need.” 

Hakoda, who is the opposite of formal, claps him on the back, and roars, “You’ll love the bards we’ve brought to celebrate the end of the midnight sun!” 

* * *

Before dinner is about to begin, Zuko sends his chambermaid to Katara’s rooms--this is the first time she’s stayed as a guest since...well, since his coronation. He’s seen to it herself that she was appointed rooms with a view of the palace’s lake and astronomy deck, that it was redecorated in soft blues and silvers, that the bathroom was stocked with the finest of accoutrement. Lady Seolha helped pick some wardrobe options, just in case, just small things like slippers and bathrobes, some hair ornaments, jewelry, and bedding that is soft and sumptuous. 

“Zuko, you asked for me? Dinner and the bards are about to starts,” she calls, padding into his sitting room on slippered feet. The valet, who holds the door open for her, disappears into the hallway. She looks beautiful; her hair is arranged the way she wore it when in hiding in the Fire Nation, and she’s arrayed in a high-necked gown of the softest periwinkle, trimmed in violet and the kind of pink you find inside seashells. A gossamer shawl of silver, practically a ribbon, hangs in the crook of her elbows. Her blue-moon eyes, as always, stop his heartbeat for a moment. 

“Yes, yes, what are bards?” he asks, shaking his head a little, heart restarting. Zuko knows how good he is at embarrassing himself, and he’d like to avoid that today, for once. 

“Oh, they’re story-telling singers,” she says, as if this is common knowledge, “We’ve finally got a few trained up and free from their duties as sailors.” 

“Like the opera or the theatre?” 

“Precisely. Well, except it’s just one guy at a time. They learn all our songs and stories, and tell them on the boats when the men are on long fishing trips, or on blizzard nights, when we all sleep in the communal igloo. The guy tonight is _really_ good, I think, but Bato’s not so sure. He likes this lady, Pinna, who broke the tradition and learned, which is great and all, but I really like Baruk’s style; he does all the good voices!” she gushes, gesturing. The wide, trailing sleeves of her gown follow her hands like pale wings. “I think Bato just thinks Pinna’s hot.” 

“Okay, so now that we’ve saved me from becoming the Ignorance Lord--”

“You are that guy, sometimes, you know,” she interjects. 

“Haha, so funny. I wanted to know: how do you like your rooms?”

“Oh.” She looks surprised. “They’re really nice. I feel so welcomed. Where’d you get all that bath stuff? It was a nice bath--I hadn’t had one like that since...jeez...Ba Sing Se.” 

He silently thanks Lady Seolha for her counsel. She’s a gem, really. 

“Recommendation. Can I escort you to dinner?” he asks, offering an arm. 

* * *

After dinner, they all settle in on cushions to hear Baruk do his barding--Zuko really doesn’t know if that’s the right verb for it, but neither _singing_ nor _story-telling_ really seem to do the job of describing this tradition. Katara sinks into the cushions next to him, fans her gown around her knees, arranges the tiny shawl just so. She rolls her head up at him with those big eyes, and he feels like he’s been smacked. He’s glad the lights have dimmed for the evening, to hide the blush.

Katara’s different than Fire Nation girls, always has been. Fire Nation women can walk through crowds naked and blend right in, but Katara--Katara who is always wrapped up to the collarbone, bundled up in parkas, covered from ankle to neck--knows how to display her body through the layers in a way that makes his mouth water and throat close and blood pound through his veins. He shudders to think of her wandering the Fire Nation without all those layers, in the garb she’d cobbled together and dried on the line at the temple, both for him, remembering the struggle it was to maintain some sense of composure when she was in it, and for his countrymen, who never knew what really hit them. 

Baruk begins to sing, and a hush falls over the crowd--the young man has a beautiful voice, but Zuko can scarcely follow the story, because he’s never heard a style like it before. That, and Katara sighs and curls into his chest, forcing his arm around her. He spend most of his time sniffing her hair, and trailing his fingers over the silk that hides her hips and waist. He is so glad the lights were dimmed for the evening. 

* * *

Later, she has joined him for more of that plum wine she likes so much on his balcony, but he uses the time to strip them of most of their finery. The moon wheels high in the sky, illuminating Katara’s brown skin and turning her ivory chemise into a garment made of pearls. 

“Mmm, I love the story that Baruk finished with; the legend of the sun and the moon’s marriage is my favorite,” she sighs, laying on top of him languidly. The heat has lessened, blessedly, and he strokes her hair from her face.

“I...I wasn’t paying him my full attention. What exactly happens in that one?” he asks surreptitiously. 

“Fire Lord Zuko, First of His Name, He Who Graces the Golden Flame Throne, how dare you slight my culture by spending the evening ogling the Southern Ambassador?!” she teases. 

“ _She_ started it, and insisted that I do it. But I meant no slight,” he jibes back. He sits up, pulling her up with him to lean against the cushions pushed against the railing.

“Well, the story goes this way, for my tribe. The Northern tribe--they have the fish thing,” she starts. 

“And we agree, the fish are important and valid.”

“Yes, the fish are important and valid, and so is Yue, may she grace us with her holy light,” she agrees, clearly rather tipsy. She looks up to the sky, “Hey, girl. Thank you for your sacrifice. Also, thank you for lighting up Zuko’s skin so nice. I owe you big time.” 

“She seems like a nice lady,” he says, looking up. He wouldn’t know if Yue the Moon Lady would really approve of him, but she seems pretty benevolent. 

“She was _thiiiiiiss_ close to being my sister-in-law,” Katara says, holding her thumb and finger an inch apart in his face. 

“But you’re getting Suki instead. Anyways, the story goes?” he prompts. 

“The story goes like this. The Moon and Ocean spirits had just finished building the world. They had given the land its shape, created the rivers and glaciers, the mountains and valleys, placed the two polar caps at the North and South, and created the first people out the snow at either end. But they realized their people were unhappy--they loved the light that the Moon gave them, but she had to rest sometimes, you know. It’s hard work, lighting up the sky,” she says. 

“That it is,” he agrees, and prods her on, running a finger over the rise of her left breast under the pearly chemise. 

“So, the Ocean said, ‘dear Moon, why don’t we find an alternate for you? Someone to light up the sky when you are asleep,’ and the Moon agreed. Together, they searched and searched, until they found the Sun. The Sun lived far to the east, and they had to convince him to come out of his cave, out of his warm bed below the earth’s crust, but once the Sun saw the Moon’s beautiful face, like the most perfect star-oyster’s pearl, he was sold. He would light the sky and warm the land and ocean for half the day, and the Moon could rest, and then he could rest, while Moon did her own work for the other half of the day.

“But the Sun was so in love, that he would stay up later and later to see just a glimpse of the Moon before he bedded down. Then he would inevitably sleep late, and the people would be forced to have hours of darkness before they saw him again. And to make matters worse, the Ocean was a jealous spirit; he’d always felt the Moon was his wife, his lady who had birthed the earth with him. He did not care for the Sun’s feelings toward the Moon.

“The Moon knew this; she’s both a gracious and a clever lady--much like someone you know, Zuko,” she says, poking his chest. 

“Who, Toph? She does know her way around a dance floor,” he teases. 

“No, me! Anyways. The Moon told the Ocean that she needed something from him; a token to prove his love for her, and that he would have a day to do it. So the Ocean dove deep, trying to seek out the jewels beneath the waves, but meanwhile, the Sun and the Moon had a plan. 

“The Sun had little as far as tokens to offer, but the Moon didn’t care. They were wed by the Snow spirit, but the marriage was short--minutes passed and then the Ocean had returned. The Sun, embarrassed at his lack of gifts, fled, while the Ocean offered the Moon the finest of engagement gifts: a necklace carved with her likeness, to wear as she travelled through the sky. The Ocean looped it around her neck, and she spins among the stars with it on, turning, until the full moon when she’s allowed her freedom again. And every so often, the Moon and Sun are able to spin into each other, and that is why we have eclipses. They are occasions of joy; the reunion of the Moon with her first husband,” she finishes. “And that is why we also have betrothal necklaces, because the Moon started the tradition.” 

“Brava, brava, sweet moon maiden!” he cheers, clapping. “It is a sad story, but I liked it.”

“Most stories meant to set examples to Water Tribe girls are a little sad. Wait until I tell about how the celestial lights came about; you’ll tear-bend your eyes out.”

“Oh dear. I’d rather not do that,” he says, giving a quick nipping kiss. He hauls her up, guides her to his bed, offers her some water, drinks some himself. He glances up at the moon; the second Moon Spirit? He thinks only of the first, who had two husbands, but Katara tugs him under the sheets before he can mull on the thought any more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspo notes: You know, I get a little bit of a viking flavor from the Southern Water Tribe based on their boats (but I am not a historian of any kind), which is my basis in the barding thing. 
> 
> We're running on the assumption that someone has fully filled in Zuko on what actually went down at the winter solstice--I like to imagine Iroh and Sokka regaling this story to Zuko (maybe I'll write this next). 
> 
> Anyways, please leave a review--this is the first fic I've written in years!


	5. hesitantancy, or, the girl from the end of the earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (...not to play favorites...but this is my favorite entry this week...)

“Thank you, Katara,” I whisper. It feels like my throat is on fire and the words billow out with the tar of pine smoke. Something about this whisper brings her to tears. 

“I should be the one thanking you.” I could cry too, honestly. There is so much to let go of with this new set of tears.

“You don’t need to tear-bend,” is all I can think to say. She gives a watery, happy laugh, but the tears still stream down her face. The cool water hums and whispers over the wound site, guided by her small hands.

“I’ll stop sometime, but I’m gonna need more supplies to get this thing healed better--no sense in adding more scars to you. The one--the one...” she trails off, looks away, hesitant. 

“The one on my face is enough,” I finish. 

“It is. You shouldn’t have to wear so much trauma,” she pauses, swallows. “It’s a good body.” 

I almost chuckle, but my chest aches too much. “Thanks. I try to take care of it. It does good work.” 

She laughs, bites her lip, keeps moving the water over me. The sting lessens. Azula roars and sobs and spews filthy curses, and _wow, I have not heard her lose her icy edge like this in_ years, _fuck_. 

“I need to get away from her--let’s go inside. See what we can find to get this in better shape. A-a-and, can we get a message to Sokka? Is there something here for that?” she asks, the edge of a sob in her throat. 

It’s weird to reassure the person taking care of my wounds. 

“We’re supposed to send a messenger hawk to towards the communication hub by the colonies...hopefully he’s waiting for us. There’s lots of medical supplies in the kitchens, unless things have changed since the invasion,” I croak, as she helps me up. Leaning on her shoulder, she helps me hop up the stairs into the palace. _My palace?_

_Do I even know how to wear this crown? Do I know how to heal from this--this wound or this war?_

“Fuck,” Katara breathes out, “This is where you grew up?”

“What? You’ve seen the Earth King’s palace. It’s even bigger.”

But I know what she means. The Earth King’s palace white and green and filled with light. The Fire Palace is red, and curtained, and _dark_. Darker than I remember, and the Day of Black Sun was not that long ago. Still leaning on Katara for support, we walk toward the kitchens, me pointing and directing, until the portrait gallery opens in front of us. Fire Lord Sozin looms down on us from this hallway. 

“I have _got_ to redecorate,” I moan. She chuckles, and the tears start again. “We need to go down those stairs. Where is everyone?” The halls are so empty. It was almost a coronation--the kitchens should be brimming with servants preparing for a celebration. Our steps and Katara’s sniffles are the only sounds. 

I lean over, and brush the tears off her cheeks. I can’t miss the blush. Her cheek is soft. 

The kitchens are empty except for a stockpot bubbling on one of the big stoves. Katara sets me on a bench, and nips over to the pot. 

“It’s nearly boiled dry,” she laughs, and bends some water over the fire, putting it out. “Where are those medical supplies? We should get you up on a table or something.” 

“Supplies--probably in the pantry, around the corner,” I reply, and try to hoist myself up. It doesn’t work. 

“Shit! I’ll help you, hold on!” she cries. She pushes bottles of spices and spoons from a wooden counter, and wraps her arms under my shoulders to pull me up. I can’t help it when my nose brushes her hair--sea salt and ginger blossoms wafts up to me. My legs buckle a little, but I think it’s the sparks running through my chest, not the smell of her hair. She leans me up against the edge. “Uhh, okay. I’m...I’m gonna grab your legs, and uh....”. Her gulp is audible. 

“And push? I’ll grab onto the edge of the table,” I fill in. She looks so pretty, even though she’s clearly tired, her eyes are puffy from crying, and she’s hauled my sorry ass all the way to the palace kitchens. But the plan works, and I am up on the counter, leaning back against the wall. She smiles wanly, and whisks off to the pantry. I hear her muttering to herself, bottles clinking, a sigh leaving her nose. My chest still stings and throbs, and my legs feel so stiff. 

“I think I can make some of these things work,” she says. Her smile is more confident as she looms over me, bottles of tinctures and several long bandages in her hands. 

Her work is slow and tedious and wildly tender, and I am practically asleep by the time she ties the final knot of wrappings over my shoulder. 

“Zuko. Zuko, earth to your royal highness?” she whispers. My eyes flutter open--she’s standing on tiptoe to look at me, mouth quirked into a pout, eyes so cyan and striking. She reaches over and tugs on my left shoulder to help me off, but I can’t help myself. I crane my neck, sternum stinging a little still, but, feeling kind of seasick from relief and gratitude, I take one hesitant breath, then touch my lips to hers. The warmth and energy that runs through me is so pleasant that it almost erases the ashy feeling in my ribcage. She presses back-- _she does press back!_ But only a moment passes before she pulls away. 

“I’m so sorry. I should have asked if you wanted to be kissed, Katara. I’m really sorry,” is all I can stammer out. 

“No, it’s okay. There’s...there’s gonna be a lot of fallout soon. Let’s...let’s go send that hawk,” she murmurs, touching her bottom lip with the tips of her fingers. I do, however, feel strong enough to swing myself off the table. She’s a miracle-worker, this girl from the end of the earth, where the land seems white and lifeless. 

I lead her out and around the palace, thinking to head to my room to get paper for the message, then we can go to the hawks’ roost. As we walk, she brushes so close to me that I feel her fingers brush my knuckles. The jitter of energy is still between us. 

“Here, we’ll just get some paper and write the note. Uh, this is my room. Although I guess I’m Fire Lord now and I could...I could move into sovereign’s suite,” I say, pushing the door open to enter-- _is it possible for me to be any more awkward?_ The room looks like a hurricane hit it. Someone must have rifled through it for secret notes or maps or letters while I was gone. 

“That would be nice; be where your mother used to sleep,” she notes, but her eyes are wandering the ceiling, the walls, to door to the bathroom. “Good grief. One boy in this whole room. Sokka and I grew up in an igloo half this size, you know.” 

“Oh, my parents had separate suites,” I reply absently. I am busy digging out my writing box. Katara’s eyebrows shoot up pointedly as I set it up. “I...I-I try not to think about why.” 

“Fair,” she says, and kneels to write a missive for Sokka. I rifle the wardrobe for a new shirt. 

As we walk across the back courtyard, Katara asks, “Seriously, shouldn’t there be more people here? Servants and other courtiers? Guards?” 

“Truthfully, yes. This is the quietest I’ve ever really seen the palace,” I say, looking up to the sky--dusk has swept over the palace grounds. _Except for the howls and sobs that still echo from the front promenade._

“Spirits, she’s still going.”

“She’s emptied the palace, I know it. Something is seriously wrong with her; she can usually can never be trusted, but I think it’s better that we try to send a message to Sokka than take Appa to them. I say we leave her be until she exhausts herself and falls asleep. Then we can maybe try to move her to the palace prison. It’s funny; if Ty Lee and Mai...if Ty Lee were here, she could take knock her out right now, with probably two punches.” 

“What if Mai were here? What would she do?” she presses. Her hand touches mine with purpose as we walk up the steps of roost. I select a hawk that will go to the communication hub near where the airship fleet was launched--Sokka said he would head there first after trying to take anyone out. I’m hesitant to think about all the ways this day could resolve. 

“Mai would probably try to knife me,” I admit. 

With shaking hands, she attaches the note, and I launch the bird into the air. Katara’s tears start again. 

“Oh, please don’t cry, not anymore. We’ve got...,” I stammer, brushing the tears away again. What do we even need to do before this day ends? I want nothing more than to eat something and go to sleep. “Katara, let’s find something to eat and maybe...get some sleep. When we wake up, we can decide how to deal with Azula, and then...then we can take Appa to the colonies and try to find Sokka and Suki and Toph and...” 

“And Aang. You’re right. I’m so...so done. For the moment. But I have time for tear-bending later, you’re right,” she says, rubbing her eyes dry. She takes a deep breath, and grabs my hand. It feels good, to touch unbidden, affectionately. I lead her to the kitchens again, and sit her down at the table the servants’ dinner table. 

“Sit. You’ve done enough caring for the day,” I insist, and start to root around for things to eat. I pull out jars and boxes and sacks of things that put together, start boiling water and add in some rice. I see a tin of ginseng tea--Uncle’s favorite. I’m not the best cook, but even I can manage hot rice with some toppings, and ginseng tea. I’ve never wanted a hot cup of tea more in my life. In the pantry, I find a box of almond-paste cookies--I haven’t had one since I was a kid. Mom loved them. I walk out, put the box by Katara’s elbow. “Here, while we wait for the water to boil. These are really good. My mother used to sneak them to me at big ceremonies. They were her favorite.” 

“Dessert first? My mother...well, my mother would scold us,” she says, but she smiles and takes one. I root around in a cold keeper, and find, of all things, some soft-boiled peacock-quail eggs soaking in a marinade of sesame oil, vinegar, and herbs. Azula must have put them on the coronation menu--they’re the kind of fussy, fancy food she likes. I pull them out.

“You only stop and tether Azula once; I say you’ve earned it. I remember a ferocious grandmother of yours down at the South Pole. What would she say about dessert first?” 

“After that last raid from the Southern Raiders, the traders from the north, traders with sugar and processed goods, stopped coming so much. Gran-gran never gave us anything for dessert.” 

_Oh_. I have so much to fix. I turn back to the tea and rice. Katara looks a little numb by this point. 

“Uh, here. So, um, I’m not much of a cook, but in the south of the Fire Nation archipelago, this is a popular quick dish, with...uh...with the people. You put the dried fish flakes on the rice, and then top it with some pickled ocean kumquats and some fermented cucumber-melon on it, and mix it up,” I explain, “And we really shouldn’t let these marinated eggs go to waste.” 

“I like pickled ocean kumquats. At home, we stew sea prunes, a really close relative.” She finally gives me a grin, a real, broad, genuine grin, and puts together a bowl. I pour tea for her, for me. This cobbled weird meal is silent, and after we set our dishes in the sink, we walk outside to find that Appa has made himself comfortable in my mother’s garden, the turtle-ducks flocking over him. 

Katara gives a huge yawn. 

“I really want to stay up to see the others, but I’m so tired,” she moans. The sun is rapidly dropping. 

“Well, my mother’s old rooms have a balcony with a good view of the sea. Let’s go up there, and you can rest, and I’ll wake you up if we get a hawk back, or I see anything,” I suggest, and we wind our way upstairs. Katara’s hand slips into mine again as we walk--warm and comforting and thrilling--and it’s my turn to blush.

My mother’s rooms were converted into guest quarters when I turned eleven, and it doesn’t look the way it used to. The sitting room looks austere, her personal paintings thrown away years ago. The linens with the pattern of sea-stars were quickly replaced with the plain red ones of all the common bedrooms, and the vials of freesia perfume have long since disappeared, but the cedar chest is still there, fragrant in the summer heat. I throw open the balcony doors, and see that night has truly fallen. I squint down to the promenade; Azula is muttering heatedly to herself, finally still. _Let her be. She’ll wear herself down_. 

“You sleep. I promise I’ll wake you if something appears,” I say, gesturing to the bed.

“You’re injured and still healing. You should sleep,” she insists, tugging me toward it. 

In the end, it doesn’t matter, because we both fall asleep on my mother’s old mattress tugged onto the balcony, and awaken to Suki’s happy yells from the lead airship in the young hours of the morning. I hesitate to cheer, only because it means that everything has changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, I don't know about you, but I am very charmed by folxs who make me bibimbap. 
> 
> I've always wondered what exactly went down right after the fight with Azula. 
> 
> As always, please leave a review! They bring me joy!


	6. affirm, or, your golden touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they bang, my dudes. 
> 
> (a love letter to shaved ice and consent)

This meeting is getting much, much too long for my liking. First off, who decides that a trade agreement meeting _must_ happen in the capital city at eleven in the morning, _on the hottest day of the summer_. Secondly, why am I required to wear my formal gear _on the hottest day of the summer_?! I am rapidly soaking through the layers of white cotton and blue linen that my father’s secretary Cana insisted I wear to this meeting. _And thirdly_ , what did Zuko just say? 

“...if the Southern delegation doesn’t object,” he finishes. I squint--it is _fucking_ unfair that he looks perfectly comfortable right at this moment, his hair tumbling gracefully past his shoulders, long robes, those _fucking_ fussy shoulder-pieces that the Fire Nation needs to retire glinting in the sun, face relaxed and sweat-free. My stomach growls, and a bead of sweat dribbles down the back of my neck. 

“We do not object,” Dad says smoothly. _What is even going on!?_ A meeting this huge, with this many delegates from all over the world, never fails to overwhelm me these days. _I’m so not mad that Dad took the lead on this one._

“Well, with that concession, I motion to adjourn the meeting for the afternoon,” says the Earth Kingdom ambassador, the Very Lady Seolha, who is pale, beautiful, and formidable in the lightest and most stylish of green kimonos. 

“Hear, hear,” says Dad, and there’s chorus of gavels on the tables. I get up from my cushion, and tug my skirts from my legs. I’ve got a real case of swamp-ass going on. Bending the sweat off doesn’t help much. 

“Katara, I am going down to the docks to check on the men; want to join me?” 

All I _really_ want is a bath and to lie on my bed naked to try to find some relief from the heat. The nice things about dating Aang was that there was always a cool breeze when it was needed, but I’ve broken things off for the moment, since he’s always away working on Spirit World stuff, and I honestly wanted some time and space to grow. I think any eighteen-year-old would want that. 

“No, I think I am going to try to cool off and rest a little. I’ll see you down at the boats for dinner, Dad,” I say, lifting my hair off my neck to try to find some equilibrium. Dad claps my back and walks off. 

“Katara, would you like to join me for lunch?” asks a soft voice behind me. 

It’s Zuko, because who else would it be? I still can’t let go of our weekend at Ember Island for his twentieth birthday earlier in the summer--making out in dark corners, eating off his chopsticks, letting him undress me our first night, and sleeping in his royal vacation home bed-- _so much glorious sleep._

He still looks _so good_. When I turned up with the delegation for the equinox and trading, he’d pulled out all stops for me--the beautifully decorated quarters, the evening after the bards’ performance, drinking plum wine on his balcony. But in the days since, I haven’t seen much of Zuko--he’s always needed at different councils, has to do mountains of paperwork, then there’s some dealing with the Fire Sages. Much is needed of the royal bottom who sits on the Golden Flame Throne, especially since that bottom needs to repair so much damage. 

“Depends, what’s for lunch?” I ask. “I hope it can be mountains and mountains of that shaved ice with different flavors.” 

“We can have shaved ice, if that’s what you want.” 

“I want that, and to fall face-first into a snow drift,” I say, hitching up my skirts to follow him.

“You’re the one with the bending to do it,” he says, touching the small of my back with a golden touch. “Though I am surprised you’ve not come up with something to cool the palace off.” 

“I just don’t have the time or the concentration for it, but I’ll think on it over the weekend--certainly they can’t need me for a day of rest and relaxation?” 

“I have the next two days this week to myself, so you certainly will,” he assures. I look about--he’s guided me to the wing where my chambers are, which I am not upset about. It has the superior bathtub. “I thought we could take lunch in your rooms--they get the better breezes from the lake and the observation deck.”

“Hmmm, maybe I could finagle some kind of ice-wall over the open balcony door--that might cool us off for a while.”

“By all means--I think I am fit to catch fire,” he murmurs, and then I notice the beads of sweat collecting on his lip, a drop running down his neck. It’s reaffirming, to know that he too is suffering in the heat. I open the door myself while Zuko calls for a servant, asking for lunch to be sent here and set for two, with lots and lots of shaved ice. 

“Can they bring apricot-orange flavored? Oh, and pomegranate too!” I call from the bathroom. I am getting that bath in before lunch starts, one-thousand percent. 

“Yes, of course, my lady,” says the servant. “His Majesty has asked for rosewater-flavored. Anything else, my lord?” 

“No, Rin, I think that will be all. Thank you,” he says, shutting the door after her, “Now, are you running a bath?” 

“Yes!” I protest, “It’s hot, I’m sweaty and gross and stiff from sitting on cushions all day, and I want to relax. I don’t have anything else on my agenda for the day, so I am starting my weekend early!” 

“Oh, I am not at all opposed. I think, with the heat, things can be cancelled on my schedule after lunch,” he says, quirking his good eyebrow. “Now, you were saying, about that idea of yours?” 

“Oh, yes, let’s give it a try while the tub fills.” I crook my fingers, lift my arms, and pull water from the tub as he flings open the doors to my balcony. I bend it into a thinnish sheet, punctuated by little holes to let the breeze through. “And now we wait and see.” 

The bath is surely full by now, and my stomach is growling, so I pour in a vial of almond oil into this thing--less a tub and more a pool inset in the white marble floor. Jewels and carvings in the shape of birds are carved and set into it, the faucet is shaped like a fish, and the sides have small shelves carved in them, holding tiny jars of scented oil, luxurious soaps, and a rainbow of little fizzing balls of powder that dissolve into bubbles or change the color of the water. The room itself, which also has a vanity made of a five-foot-long shelf of white marble and mirrors, is easily the size of the igloo Sokka and I grew up in. I drop of one of the little balls in--pink and jasmine-scented. 

Zuko pads in, ever silent despite his raiment of gold, and opens the cedar cabinet filled with towels. He inhales deeply. 

“This is my favorite smell in the world. My mother kept all her sheets in a cedar chest when I was little,” he murmurs. “Mind if I join you in the bath?”

“Not at all. Food first, or later?”

“Rin will be back with lunch shortly. I can always warm the water back up when we’re done,” he says, opening another closet, “I swear, where’d she leave them?” 

“What’re you looking for?” I ask. I left the lovely blue silk bathrobe, a gift, on the vanity chair this morning. Getting uncomfortably sticky, I swiftly throw the outer layer of my outfit, a stiff sea-dark surcoat with white fur ornaments picked through the linen, to the floor. 

“Oh, I had Yuan leave a bunch of robes of mine in here to store--I have far too many, so I have one I keep in my room, and I really should just donate some of them, but so many of them were gifts... but I am really ready to be out of royal gear for the day.”

He really is so sentimental, this young man; only just scarcely not a boy, truthfully. I smile to myself, as he finds the robe in question in the next closet. It’s sunset-yellow, probably light as a feather, with orange trim. 

My next layer is icy blue and cotton, a dress that hits my knees, but I get stuck trying to pull it off, because Zuko, the Fire Lord himself, starts to strip in my bathroom. He lifts off his shoulder piece, and it clatters to the ground. Next, the outer gold sash is untied, and hits the floor. The burgundy robe pools at his feet. I gulp. He’s down to a black tunic and burgundy trousers, and I know he likely has a light, white cotton undershirt under that, and then there’s the shoes with curling toes. 

“Katara, you must be warm,” he whispers, “why not keep going?” I scramble to unlace the brown leather boots--they do really go with the whole outfit, even if they are impractical for diplomatic missions--and yank them off. 

“Your turn, Your Highness,” I challenge. He unclasps the little knots that hold the tunic closed, and opens it, but doesn’t shuck it off yet--indeed, there is a light undershirt under it. Instead, he sits down to pull off the shoes, their soles flashing gold to me. He tosses them to the corner, and stretches his feet. 

“Ahhh, that’s better. Go ahead, you must be so uncomfortable,” he smirks. Oh, so he’s challenging me? I’ll rise to it. 

I tug the cobalt trousers down, and step out, trying to come back up as slowly as possible. I toss my hair, fixing him with a bold look. I tug the tie of the short dress open, but pause. 

He grins a slow, dangerous, cat-fox grin, and pulls himself off the cool marble floor. He shrugs out of the black tunic, and it seems to melt away from his corded arms. I bite my lip as he grabs the hem of the undershirt, and pulls it off to flutter away in an affirmation of his loveliness, so lean and pale and angular. 

I love looking at his chest and arms unburdened. Is he flexing? He’s flexing, and I am far from mad about watching his lean muscles stand out. He flickers his gold eyes over me, and I slide my sash from its resting place, pulling the cotton dress from my waist, tugging it away from my shoulders, and letting it slide to the floor. _Ahhh, more relief_ , and it is needed. 

“Well, Your Highness? Do you need a hand with your royal britches?” I taunt, and pull at the ties of the white cotton wrappings there--I picked Fire Nation style this morning, which leaves the legs freer that than stuff I’d wear at home. I can see him swallow, but his eyes remain still--he is pulling at the laces of his trousers. But he only unlaces them. 

“I might need that hand, Ambassador,” he teases, and I step nearer. He grabs my hands, puts them on the waistband of the trousers, and pushes. I yank them down a little.

“There, I think got them started for you, Your Highness,” I snark, though I am tempted to slip a hand around the left royal asscheek. 

“Fine...” he sighs, and I step back. He slides the trousers down and steps out of them. His wrappings are bright red, and I chuckle. 

“So fancy, Your Royal-ness,” I tease, and I make to tug them away, but he stops me, plants a possessive kiss on my mouth, and slips his sunset robe around over his shoulders, belting it loosely around his trim waist. 

“Not yet--we’re about to go eat lunch,” he chides, and turns me around to pull the ornaments from my hair. My scalp relaxes as he pulls hairpins, beads, and braids out, leaving my mass of hair to trail down my back.

“Well, I know that, but I just want to be comfortable,” I say, so I pull my power-move, and tug all of my wrappings off, and walk to the vanity. His mouth is a little agape, I see in the mirror, and I tilt my hip as I tie my hair up in a knot on the top of my head, securing it messily in place with a ribbon. I leave my dangling sea-glass and pearl earrings in, to bring his attention to my neck. “Are you licking your chops?!”

“I am really, really ready for my lunch,” he gasps as I shrug the blue silk robe over my shoulders. He drops the pile of hair ornaments on the counter of the vanity, and trails a warm hand up my neck-- _mmm, I could melt_. 

I follow him out the door, and am relieved that the ice wall idea has worked. The bed, I notice, has been made with fresh linens since this morning when I left it, and the room has otherwise be tidied up. I settle on the heavy cushions at the table I’ve taken a few private meals at, and had used as a desk a few days ago. Zuko joins me, effortlessly catching my eye with a slip of his robe over his collarbone. There’s a knock at the doors. 

“Enter,” he orders. Two servants with lunch in hand sweep in, and settle three silver trays and a crystal pitcher filled with minted water on the table. 

“Anything else, sire?” asks one.

“This will be all, thank you. One of us will call if we need anything more,” he says, and the servants sweep out. He lifts the covers off the trays to show the array of food; big slices of chilled melon, dragon-plums fresh from the trees, grilled baby squids that waft with the scents of citrus and sea salt, cold noodles in peanut sauce, more of that spicy fermented cucumber-melon Fire Nation folks seem to revere, pickled ocean kumquats, a crisp salad of snow-peas and peppers, and of course, many cloud-like piles of shaved ice. 

I dig into my shaved ice first, the orange one that I know is my request. It’s fluffy and creamy and I relish the sour-sweet tang of apricot-orange. 

“Dessert first, my lady Ambassador?” Zuko questions, grabbing at a grilled squid with his chopsticks. 

“They melt so quickly, and I just need to cool off, you know,” I smirk, taking another languid bite, finding a chunk of fruit within. I let my robe slip off my shoulder, enjoying the chilled breeze coming in off the balcony, and watch those intense golden eyes flicker down. 

I enjoy lunch, and am glad to escape the heat with Zuko. We laugh and chat, and I amuse myself by teasing him with little glimpses of skin, puckering my lips extra as I slurp up the peanut noodles, and sinking my teeth sumptuously into the melon slices. He tries to tease back, but the awkward turtle-duck makes an appearance, though he does look handsome regardless. 

Finished with my second helping of shaved ice, and Zuko with his, I get up and stretch, sneaking a glance to Zuko staring at my thighs, and yawn, “I am definitely ready for that bath--I’m so sticky.” I walk away to the bathroom door, and let the blue silk robe drop to the floor. Zuko, no longer silent with anticipation, bounds after me, quick to put his hands wherever he can reach. I feel like this is just another affirmation that I am winning our little game. I walk out of his grasp, and sink into the tub--it’s still lightly warm, and the jasmine and almond wafts over me as I sink in and pull the ribbon out of my hair. I stretch and float, clenching my toes to force the water to lap around me with purpose, unwinding all my major muscles. A sounds that is mostly a mewl leaves my mouth. 

Zuko watches me with intense eyes, sliding his own robe off and unravelling his wrappings. He’s already hard, I observe as I dip my head under and begin to lather up my sweaty hair. He tugs his crown and topknot out, tossing the hair over his broad shoulder. 

He pads over the tiles, and slips in. The tub begins to heat up immediately, almond-scented steam starting to waft up around him as he makes his way to me. I duck under, half-teasing, but mostly wanting to rinse my hair just in case. 

“I want you,” he growls as I surface, catching me in his arms. He grasps my waist, pushes us to the convenient bench in this massive bathtub, and I lock my legs around his hips. His mouth makes quick work over my shoulders and throat, stopping to suck lightly on the juncture between neck and clavicle. His left thumb swipes pleasantly over a nipple, while the right heads to crux of my legs. I run a hand over his hot, hard cock, mind blissfully blank as his practically-volcanic fingers smooth and press greedily over me. I find his mouth over mine again, and take my opportunity, pressing into him, tasting the sweet tang of rosewater on his lips. 

“Mmm, you should let me wash your hair too, Zuko. You’re awfully sweaty,” I chide, tugging on a black-as-night lock. 

“Don’t have time for that,” he rasps, lips barely leaving my skin. 

“What do you have time for?” 

“This,” comes the smoky growl, and he hauls me out of the water, my legs still locked around his waist, out of the tub, and into the bedroom. My hips seek friction and purchase as he walks across the carpet, steaming rising from his skin. He drops me on the bed, limbs all akimbo. He kneels on the carpet, but peeks over to me, eyes suddenly pleading and innocent, looking for permission, for affirmation, for consent. 

“May I?” he asks, voice so sweet despite the rasp. 

“Oh, have me as you will--you’ve gotten me all riled up and enthusiastic,” I assure him, trailing a toe up his side. 

He smiles, and starts with feathery kisses on the inside my thighs, each getting warmer and warmer, until a fiery mouth makes contact between my folds, tongue firm. I moan--I deserve this, after a break-up, the tease at Ember Island, and that fucking too-hot meeting. He hums over the bundle of nerves, sending me reeling, crooks a finger within me, adds another. I keen, wriggling, toes curling, as he presses on, like I am a mountain river and he is a man dying of thirst. 

On the other side of a powerful orgasm, I hook my arms and legs around Zuko’s pale form, and haul him up ( _he would become such a powerfully built man if he spent more time on the training grounds_ ), desperate to be filled. Once he’s on the bed, I roll him over, straddle his hips, and watch his face gasp into a little ‘o’ as I slip him inside me--which is, for the record, quite a glorious sensation and hits all the right spots. 

“Kataaa-ra,” he quakes, voicing catching. 

“Yes?” 

“Marry me. Please.” 

I don’t answer, but instead focusing on the connection between us. We push and pull, like Tui and La, and I set the pace--this is _my_ afternoon, he is _my_ wave to ride. His hands tangle in my wet hair, ghost over the planes of my hips, and he pushes himself up, never severing our connection, my hips rising and shifting deliciously. He wraps his arms around me until we perch on the bed like a lotus, still the ever-present push and pull that makes me languid and tight and dizzy and too alert all at the same time. Face buried possessively in my hair, he croons wordlessly in my ear, our hearts seeming to collide, until I am overwhelmed by sensation, shivers engulfing me. He bursts within a breath of me, and together we quake. I flop back on the bed, but I miss the feel of him already, and yank him down with me, giddy, covering his face with sloppy kisses. 

“Katara. Marry me. Please. I’m serious,” he whispers, eyes hooded, a yawn in his throat. 

_I can’t_. The pressure to be with Aang, who I still care for, or to rule and lead--that’s not me. But Zuko looks up at me so sweetly, with the same grace and gratitude and humility that he has since the night we took Azula down, that I am sorely tempted to say yes. As always, there’s so much, too much, but I refuse to spiral. I will nap instead, snooze away the afternoon until I have sorted my thoughts. 

“I’ll think on it,” I concede, brushing a lock of hair from his face. 

“The moon had two husbands,” he murmurs, exhaustion overtaking him. 

“What?” 

“In the story. The Water Tribe one. The moon, she had two husbands.” 

But I am not the moon. I am only a girl who does the work of grown women. But a girl with a full stomach and a breeze in the window and who desperately deserves this afternoon nap wrapped in affectionate arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a review, they bring joy!


	7. rebirth, or, how terribly strange to be seventy

Katara feels like her heart catches fire a little when she walks back into her sitting room, a tray with tea and little nibbles in her arms. Korra has finally exhausted herself, and has fallen asleep over Zuko’s lap, drooling a little on his robes. He strokes her head with his long hand-- _when did his hands grow so wrinkled?_

“They’re cute, when they’re this little,” Zuko murmurs. “When Izumi was a little girl, she used to want to sit everywhere with me, even on the throne, and she’d fall asleep within seconds.” Katara smiles. Izumi was a sweet girl growing up. “Young Iroh was the same--always connected to my leg. I can’t believe how much he’s grown in the past year.”

“It’s a miracle if Korra actually sleeps at all, actually. She’s so busy--much busier than all our kids combined,” she replies, settling down at her place at the table. Korra’s little snores punctuate her thoughts. 

“Mmm, I remember Bumi being _pretty_ hyper as a kid--and when I saw him last month, too, come to think of it. You’d think that passing thirty-five would change that...” he smirks, and tugs at his beard--it’s starting to streak with white since she’s last seen Zuko. Katara pours him some tea, mouth puckered to the side. 

“It’s so odd, seeing so little of Aang in her, you know. But it’s only been four years, I suppose,” she murmurs, looking to the little girl curled in his lap. “She’s got a lot of energy, of course, and some mischief, but none of Aang’s patience or happy nature.” 

“She does like to cause a scene,” Zuko chuckles, “while you were making tea, she wanted to wrestle, and promised to throw me to the floor.” 

“She didn’t! Her mother and I talked to her about that--she is not allowed to threaten strangers with violence!” 

“I mean, am I _really_ a stranger to her? Or, at least, to her past lives? I’m pretty important to at least two of them, you know.” He continues to chuckle, sipping his tea, still strokes Korra’s head of downy little-girl hair. Katara feels a little wistful seeing her curled up in the dowager Fire Lord’s lap, like she used to feel when Kya or Bumi would sit with him when they were little. Not that she regrets turning down his proposal when she was eighteen; the life of a Fire Lady wasn’t--still isn’t--for her. 

“You never _even_ met Avatar Roku, Zuko!” she teases. 

“Well, I’m sure he knows me in spirit--Uncle’s probably met up with him in the Spirit World a couple times, told him all the embarrassing stories. Aang’s probably told him the good things,” he sighs, smirking. His cat-fox smirk will never change. It still crinkles up his soft golden eyes, puckering the laugh lines that have made their home on his cheeks. 

“No, they’re both roasting you. I can feel it in my old bones,” she assures him, nibbling delicately on an almond-paste cookie.

“But, you know, this means I can ask you something, Katara. Finally,” he murmurs, eyes softening, smirk shrinking. “We’ve both been widowed a while now...”.

“Zuko, I know what you’re going to say. But I am almost seventy! I am not at all eager to be a grandmother-bride and be dragged up to your archipelago to manage your castle and advise Izumi,” she protests. 

“No, no, Katara, I don’t think it needs to be said anymore that you were always the one that got away,” he says, voice like silken smoke still. “And I won’t...I don’t see myself spending lots of time at the palace anymore. Izumi doesn’t need her old dad anymore. I am thinking of living on the road again--like when we were kids. But with more goodwill and diplomacy. And...and I’d like a companion. I’d like you to be my companion, Katara. I miss your company. We could track down Toph, and visit with Sokka and Suki whenever we like. We aren’t getting much younger.”

“We’re getting older; I don’t know if you’ve noticed that my hair’s almost completely white, Your Royal Obliviousness!” she teases softly, but she needs the joke to give her time to think.

“I like it. You look stately. I look like my uncle.” 

“You know...you know I’d love to travel with you again. But I’ve promised to be Korra’s water-bending master. I’ll join you in a few years, when she’s older, finishes her training with me and moves on to earth. Maybe you can train her a little when she moves on to fire?”

Zuko takes a deep breath, half a smile wrinkling his cheek. 

“I can agree to that,” he says. Korra rolls over, curls back in a ball on Zuko’s lap, thumb in her mouth--Katara remembers vaguely that young Iroh used to do that. 

“I should put her in bed for her nap; Senna will appreciate that when she comes to get her,” she says, starting to get up. 

“No, no, sit, you’ve been playing host to me. I can do it...I miss these moments,” he insists. He’s still swift and fluid at seventy, getting up with much ease. He croons to Korra, “You’re snoring like a koala-sheep, little girl, so it’s time to nap,” as he cradles her, walking through the doorway to the bedroom. Zuko looks back Katara.

“I’ll have no tear-bending from you, Master Katara,” he play-scolds. She sits, idly drinking tea, until he settles back onto his cushion. She mulls over her response to his thoughts; she’s done so much traveling. But she is getting lonely without Aang, and it would be nice to find their friends, see people, extend hands, but she also doesn’t miss her days as an ambassador. But Zuko’s suggestion sounds more like when we were trying to get Aang to the North Pole, which I do miss. 

“She’s like an elbow-leech” he murmurs, a small smile on his face, padding back into the room. “Well, what do you think?” 

“I’m still thinking, but it’s good thinking,” she replies. “You might have more convincing to do.” 

“Remember, the first Moon had two husbands,” he says gravely. “You could be the third moon.” 

_The first Moon_ did _have two husbands. Can I?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for making it this far! I am actually really proud of my submissions this year--it really got me back into writing, which I needed. 
> 
> Leave a review; they bring joy!


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